The Stars in My Night Sky
by WinterSky101
Summary: There is a reason no one has ever claimed that proposing is easy. Combeferre/Courfeyrac, written for Courferre week. Modern AU.


**The time has come again for Courferre week! I hope everyone enjoys this little piece.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Les Mis.**

* * *

"If I tell you something, do you promise not to tell Combeferre?" Courfeyrac asks as he spins around in Enjolras' desk chair. Enjolras, sitting on his bed, doesn't look up from his computer.

"Mmm, hmm," he hums in response. Courfeyrac is pretty sure he actually knows what he's agreeing to.

"I think I'm going to ask Ferre to marry me."

Enjolras' fingers go still on the keyboard. "What?" he asks, finally looking up. Courfeyrac nods firmly.

"I'm going to ask Ferre to marry me."

Enjolras blinks. "Are you sure?" he asks. "I mean, you've only been together for-"

"Two years, I know, but I love him," Courfeyrac interrupts. "Do you think he'll think it's too soon? Do you think he won't say yes?"

"I don't know if Combeferre is actually capable of saying no to you," Enjolras replies. Courfeyrac rolls his eyes.

"That's a blatant lie and you know it," he retorts. "But you don't think he'll say no?"

"He won't say no," Enjolras replies. Looking interested despite himself, he adds, "How long have you known you wanted to marry him?"

"I'm glad you asked," Courfeyrac replies. Enjolras rolls his eyes. "You see, I went over to visit you one morning, and then suddenly I saw Combeferre, wearing a sweatshirt that was far too big for him and had a horrible grammar pun on the front. I looked at him, still ruffled from sleep, and I said to myself, 'I'm going to marry that boy.'"

Enjolras stares at Courfeyrac for a moment. "That was when you first met Combeferre, back in sixth grade," he finally replies. Courfeyrac nods.

"And I've wanted to marry him ever since," he sighs longingly. Enjolras sighs.

"How are you going to ask him?" he asks. Courfeyrac bites his lip.

"I was hoping you could help with that part," he admits. Enjolras' eyes widen a bit.

"Me?" he asks, sounding surprised. "I don't know how much I can help."

"You know Combeferre," Courfeyrac replies. "What sort of proposal would he like?"

"The type where you're the one proposing," Enjolras replies dryly. Courfeyrac narrows his eyes. "Honestly, I have no clue how to propose to anyone, and I definitely have no clue how to propose to Combeferre. But I do know that it doesn't matter how you propose to him, he'll love it."

"You are no help at all," Courfeyrac replies, getting up from Enjolras' desk chair and flopping face-first onto Enjolras' bed. "I want it to be perfect," he moans into the mattress. Enjolras pats his curls distractedly before getting up and reclaiming his desk chair, setting his computer on the desk.

"Courf, listen." Courfeyrac looks up at Enjolras. "Combeferre loves you. No matter how you ask him, he'll say yes. Trust me."

"But I want it to be perfect!" Courfeyrac protests. Enjolras grins.

"To Combeferre, you already are," he replies. Courfeyrac gapes at Enjolras for a moment - sappy little remarks like that aren't his forte - but all Enjolras does is go back to his computer, his grin widening.

"So you're not going to help?" Courfeyrac asks. Enjolras doesn't reply, back to working at his computer.

He does reply, however, when Courfeyrac throws a pillow at him; neither of them get much done after that point.

* * *

After Enjolras' thoroughly unhelpful help, Courfeyrac decides that it was stupid to ask him anyway, considering he's the most romantically inept of the romantically inept - it took him _years_ to realize that Grantaire actually didn't hate him at all. Instead, he decides he ought to go to all of his friends.

The results are…varied.

("Take him out to a graveyard and propose to him there. Preferably at twilight. The sense of slight terror will make it much more emotional."

"Oh my god, Jehan, _no._ ")

The prevailing opinion is that Courfeyrac could ask Combeferre in any way and it would be fine, which is the least helpful thing anyone could say. Courfeyrac is entirely aware that Combeferre will probably accept his proposal no matter how he does it. That doesn't change the fact that he wants it to be perfect, and in his mind, that means big and memorable.

So Courfeyrac goes to the member of Les Amis who, although he'd never admit it, is definitely the one who, next to Courfeyrac, spends the most time thinking about big romantic gestures.

* * *

"You want me to help you figure out how to propose to Combeferre," Grantaire asks in a deadpan voice. Courfeyrac nods.

"Don't pretend you don't like thinking about romantic gestures, R. You're good at it."

"It what universe am I the best one to go to for something like this?" Grantaire demands. Courfeyrac sighs.

"I asked Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta, and all they did was tell me the story of their proposal again with as many puns as Joly and Bossuet could possibly come up with. Feuilly went into a rant about the diamond trade even though I told him that I wasn't going to get a real diamond for the ring. Bahorel told me to _go boxing with Combeferre and tell him in the middle of the fight._ Believe me, Grantaire, I am _desperate_. Not that I'm only asking you because I'm desperate, but you are my last hope. I need you."

"Have you tried asking Marius?" Grantaire asks. Courfeyrac laughs, the sound slightly tinged with hysteria.

"I want help on my proposal, not his attempts at poetry about Cosette. And she's off on her trip with Valjean, so I can't ask her. Éponine would laugh in my face. Grantaire, _please_."

"Okay, fine," Grantaire sighs. "You want to do a big proposal that Combeferre would like, right?"

"Yes," Courfeyrac replies. Grantaire nods.

"Okay, so, other than you, what are some things that Combeferre likes?"

"Science?" Courfeyrac offers. Grantaire nods again, more slowly this time.

"Okay. He's got his weird moth obsession, right?"

"It's not weird, it's _cute_ ," Courfeyrac replies in a wounded voice. Grantaire arches an eyebrow. "It is!"

"Alright, whatever. And he likes space and shit."

"Oh my god," Courfeyrac breathes. Grantaire frowns.

"Yeah?"

"I know what to do." Courfeyrac grabs Grantaire's face and presses a smacking kiss to his forehead. "Thank you, Grantaire, you are the _best_."

"Okay?" Grantaire is clearly confused, but Courfeyrac has already ran out of the room.

* * *

Courfeyrac's terrific plan is as follows: He's going to take Combeferre to the butterfly conservatory for a picnic, and when it gets dark, they'll go outside and look at the stars and Courfeyrac will propose. It's sweet, it's romantic, and it plays perfectly into Combeferre's favorite things. Courfeyrac's not afraid to admit that he's probably a genius.

It starts out perfectly. They go to the conservatory. Combeferre spouts off facts about moths and Courfeyrac listens lovingly because he wasn't lying when he told Grantaire he found the moth obsession cute. Their picnic dinner goes without a hitch.

Then everything falls apart when they go outside to look at the stars. It's okay at first. The night is perfectly clear. Combeferre alternates between beaming at the stars and beaming at Courfeyrac. It's great.

Then the evilest root of all time pops up out of the ground and trips Courfeyrac, sending him sprawling to the ground.

"Courf!" Combeferre cries, kneeling next to him. "Are you okay?"

"Maybe?" Courfeyrac replies. "My ankle hurts." Inside, he rages. _WHY? OF ALL NIGHTS, WHY TONIGHT? WHY DOES GOD HATE ME? WHY DO BAD THINGS HAPPEN TO GOOD PEOPLE?_

"I'll help you back to the car," Combeferre replies, holding out a hand. Courfeyrac uses it to heave himself to his feet, not putting any weight on his throbbing ankle.

"Oh, you dropped something," Combeferre adds. Courfeyrac's heart stops when he sees exactly what he dropped.

"Don't pick it up!" he squeaks, but Combeferre already has the small velvet box in his hand. Eyes wide, Combeferre looks up at Courfeyrac.

"Is this…?"

"I was going to ask you tonight, under the stars," Courfeyrac admits, slumping. "It was going to be romantic."

"Courf, you don't need to do anything special to make time between us romantic," Combeferre replies, smiling. He hands the box back to Courfeyrac. "But if you want to plan something else, I'll pretend to be surprised."

"Oh, to hell with it," Courfeyrac declares after a moment. He awkwardly lowers himself down to one knee, grabbing Combeferre to help steady himself. Once he's sure he isn't going to fall over, he looks up, smiling at Combeferre.

"Ferre. My darling Combeferre. You are the light of my life, the stars in my night sky, the super cool moth in my garden." Combeferre chuckles, his eyes a bit wet. Courfeyrac holds up the ring box. "I planned for this to be beautiful and romantic, but any time with you is romantic anyway, because I love you. I have always loved you and I always will. From the first moment I saw you in that grammar sweatshirt, to the moment we started going out, to this second right now, to the last seconds of my life, I love you. And I want to show that love by asking if you'll make me the happiest man in the world." Courfeyrac opens the ring box, revealing the thin silver band, etched with a design of tiny stars and moths. "Combeferre, will you marry me?"

"Of course," Combeferre whispers, tears in his eyes, and the second Courfeyrac has slipped the ring onto his finger, he bends down to kiss Courfeyrac, helping him to his feet without breaking the kiss. "I love you," Combeferre whispers when they pull their lips apart, their foreheads touching.

"I love you too," Courfeyrac whispers.

The stars twinkle above their heads.

* * *

"So," Courfeyrac declares at the meeting the next day, his ankle in a cast, "on the minus side, I broke my ankle. On the plus side, Ferre and I are engaged."

The room promptly explodes into cheering. "Of course you couldn't do anything without the max amount of drama," Grantaire remarks dryly. Courfeyrac shrugs.

"It's a talent," he replies. "Thanks for the help, R."

"When's the wedding going to be?" Bahorel called out.

"Which one of you is getting Enjolras as your best man?" Joly asks. Courfeyrac looks over at Combeferre. It's a valid question.

"We'll figure it out," Combeferre replies. He's got an arm around Courfeyrac's shoulders and he leans over to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "We've got time."

"We have all the time in the world," Courfeyrac replies, turning to kiss Combeferre properly.

They both have far too much practice at tuning out the obnoxious chorus of "aww"s in the background.


End file.
